


for the earthly real (i'd give them all away)

by champagneleftie



Category: SKAM (TV)
Genre: Car Sex, F/F, Mutual Masturbation, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-21
Updated: 2018-01-21
Packaged: 2019-03-07 20:29:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13442787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/champagneleftie/pseuds/champagneleftie
Summary: Eva's laugh sets Noora on fire.She's tried to contain it. Tried to push it away.But.It's as pointless as trying to contain the sea.





	for the earthly real (i'd give them all away)

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [för det jordiskt verkliga](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13438635) by [champagneleftie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/champagneleftie/pseuds/champagneleftie). 



Pale November.

The morning fog still lingers, hours after lunch. Before them, the sea, gray and shivering. Now and then a tired wave breaks with a sigh.

It’s quiet. No birds. No bathers. Nothing but the white stones chafing under their shoes.

The wind.

 

Eva by the water in her teddy coat.

Her hair flares against the pallor. A flame against the sky. Drapes over her face when she turns towards Noora, laughing.

A beacon.

Eva's laugh flares in Noora. Crackles. Sparks. Spreads like signal fire through her body, flame after flame through arms, neck, cheeks. To her belly. Thighs. Cunt.

Eva's laugh sets the world on fire.

 

Two hours and 43 minutes have passed since Eva got her driver's license.

Two hours and 39 minutes have passed since Noora heard about it.

And so they're here, now, because _let's drive somewhere, anywhere, with MY license_ and Noora can never say no to being with Eva.

Can never remember to swerve in time.

  


Eva, shouting her triumph to the horizon. Dancing her happiness over jagged rocks.

Eva's laugh sets Noora on fire.

She's tried to contain it. Tried to push it away.

 

But.

It's as pointless as trying to contain the sea.

  


When all she thinks about is Eva.

 

Eva with her arm around Vilde when she cries. Eva in a world of her own on the dance floor. The dip between Eva's collar bones, the line of her eyebrows. Eva's pout, Eva's shining eyes.

 

Eva’s hand, pushing her hair off her temple, again, and laughing, again, and Noora mirrors her at a distance.

Wishing it were her hand in Eva’s hair. Eva’s hand against her temple.

 

She feels it, first, against the back of her hand. Just a prick. Cold, gone before she recognises it. Then again, against her cheek.

Her neck.

 

Rain. Full, cold, quivering drops of rain.

One.

Two.

Three.

 

And thousands of thousands of thousands and

Eva surges to her side, takes Noora’s hand, scrambles stumbles shrieking over stones chafing under their shoes, and Eva unlocks the door at full speed and suddenly everything is

 

Still.

 

But for

heavy.

gasping.

breaths

 

and

 

Pat. Pat. Pat. Patpatpatpat against the windshield, roof, side mirrors. A blanket of rain tucks them in.

Conceals them.

 

Noora’s heart patpatpats with the rain. Mingles with gasping breaths. Her own. Eva’s. Side by side in the back seat. Shoulder to shoulder. Hip against hip.

Eva’s hair, dark, knotty, heavy against her neck. When she maneuvers out of her wilting jacket a drop dislodges from it. Forges a path along her hairline. Rounds the lobe of her ear. Finds a home in the dip between her collarbones.

Noora’s fingertips spark with desire to follow it.

There’s a sparkle in Eva’s eyes when she leans her head back and looks at Noora. Cheeks kissed red by the cold. Smiling round.

 

All Noora thinks about is Eva.

Like it’s always been there. Waiting. This yearning, for Eva.

 

Ashy embers, aerated; ignited.

 

All Noora thinks about is Eva.

All Noora wants is Eva.

 

Eva’s heavy breaths grow lighter, faster, spark and she’s laughing, laughing so that she can’t keep her eyes open, has to rest her cheek against the back of the seat, hide her face in the upholstery

and

her laughter is a flame along Noora’s arms, thighs, down her spine. Comes together in a fire, roars in the pit of her stomach

and

 

Noora burns

crackles

sparks

and

she can’t _not_

– so

 

a hand on Eva’s cheek, wet from the rain. Eva’s hair against the tips of her fingers, soaked, matted. The smell of rain. Wind. _Eva_.

 

Soft lips against Noora’s taut.

Still.

 

All is still.

 

Forever, all is still.

 

One.

Two.

Three.

 

And.

Eva kisses her back.

 

Eva kisses her back. Carefully, at first. Tentatively. Like she doesn’t understand exactly what’s happening either. Doesn’t know what this means. But when she tilts her head, just a millimeter to the side, Noora can feel the tip of her nose, cold against her own. Her bottom lip soft and warm in Noora’s mouth.

 

Eva turns towards her. Puts an arm around Noora’s waist. A hand on the small of her back. Carefully. Tentatively.

 

Pulls her in.

 

A flame zips from Eva’s hand up Noora’s spine.

Vertebra to

vertebra

to vertebra.

Radiates through her ribs, down her arms. Burns in the pit of her stomach. Thighs.

 

Noora glows.

 

Every millimeter of skin pulses. Sparks beneath the pads of her fingers. Against Eva’s temple.

 

Eva pulls her in. Eva pulls her in, and Noora pulls herself to her. They pull themselves in to each other and then she’s laying wedged against the back of the seat, partly on her side, partly on her back. An arm over Eva’s shoulders. Eva’s leg between her own.

Eva has a foot on the floor to keep her balance. The seat belt buckle cuts into Noora’s ribs.

It isn’t comfortable.

It doesn’t matter.

 

What matters is this:

Eva’s hair around her hand; silken at the neck against the palm of her hand, wet tangle around her fingers.

Eva’s eyelashes, whispering against her cheek.

Eva’s thigh between her own.

 

Eva’s thigh between her own, and it vibrates as she tenses up to avoid gliding off the seat.

Vibrates against Noora. Through Noora. Through denim on denim, hard seams on thin cotton.

 

Noora glows.

Carefully. Tentatively.

 

Her skin prickles with desire. Everywhere Eva touches her bursts into flame. Nose to cheek, arm to neck, hand in hair. Breast to breast, stomach to stomach. Thigh, knee, calf.

T–shirt to knitted sweater under coat. Denim on denim.

 

Behind closed eyes Noora can see Eva’s skin, infinite. Glimpsed. Locker rooms, sleepovers. Inaccessible. Intangible.

 

Carefully. Tentatively.

 

Her fingers follow the trail of Eva’s spine. Counting vertebra after vertebra beneath the thin cotton. Doesn’t know if she’s imagining Eva pressing still closer with each centimeter passed.

Eva’s t–shirt has slipped up at the small of her back. A few centimeters of skin where her spine disappears beneath the waistband of her jeans. Gaping wide enough for Noora’s thumb. Finger. To the curve of her hip, and back again. Brushing against the edge of Eva’s panties.

 

Carefully. Tentatively.

 

Eva's breath, catching. Whispering, vibrating eyelashes against Noora’s cheek.

A moment.

And Eva's hand finds its way down over her sweater, her breasts – Noora pulls back her shoulders meets Eva's hand, _there –_ and down, down.

Cold fingers on Noora’s stomach, and she sucks in, involuntarily, but the chill becomes pulsing heat beneath her skin, spreads from just beside her belly button through all the nerves of her body.

Beacons lit. Flare after flare after flare.

The acrylic lining of her coat is at same time smooth and rough against her back when Eva's hand moves upwards. Pulls with her her sweater. The cold.

Noora can't keep still.

Can't stop seeking Eva's hand.

Not when it finds her breast again, a thumb in circles over her nipple, through the lace of her bra. A hand on her breast. It shouldn't do as much with it as it does, shouldn't affect her like this, but it's Eva's hand and that makes all the difference. Eva's thumb rubbing the lace against her nipple. Making fireworks explode under her skin.

 

Makes her blood glow. Crackle. Spark.

 

Eva's hand on her breast, Eva's thigh between her legs. Eva's kisses: warm, eager. Hungry.

 

All Noora wants is Eva.

 

Noora’s blood simmers. Sizzling. Unchecked. Swells and swells and overflows and fills between her legs, boiling. She needs Eva's hands everywhere, at the same time, her hands on her skin, everywhere. At the same time.

If it wasn't for Eva's weight on her she'd float away. She's lifting now, lifting towards Eva, needs to be closer, needs more. Her cunt heavy with blood. Demanding. She curves her back, tries to angle her hips against Eva's leg, tries to find the right spot for some pressure, some relief. Feels Eva do the same.

 

Crackles, sparks.

 

In the friction of Eva's thigh she can feel how wet she is.

But Eva pushes herself off her, puts her weight on the arm under Noora’s neck, lets go of her lips, lifts from her stomach. The pressure of her thigh between Noora’s disappears, and Noora _needs it_ but can’t reach, no matter how she pushes herself upwards.

Eva’s hand finding its way back down her stomach. Noora shivering under brushing finger tips.

When she reaches the button of Noora’s jeans she stops. Its metal cold beneath her belly button. Eva’s fingers against the waistband.

When Noora opens her eyes she looks straight into Eva’s.

Eva smiling.

 

Carefully. Tentatively.

Amazed.

 

_Okay?_  

 

And the heat wells from the pit of her stomach, overflows, floods. Her hand from Eva’s lower back to her hair, weaves into it, pulls her in and _more_ than okay, so much more than okay. _Has to,_ needs it, every nerve, every cell in her body at attention, gravitates towards Eva

and Eva kisses her back, smile, teeth, unbuttons. Pulls:

Notch by

notch

by notch.

 

The air is cold against the inside of her thighs when Eva pulls on her jeans, pulls them down her hips. The pockets drag against her ass, a few centimeters.

She can’t decide what to focus on. Can’t focus, bursts into flames, burns, ignites under Eva against Eva from Eva.

Eva’s lips on her own, Eva’s tongue, insistent against her mouth – Eva’s fingers, explorant, curious against the edge of her panties, stomach, hip, down to –

Fingers whispering over her clit make the decision for her. All her nerves, all the sensation in her body. Concentrated. Radiates, explodes – through her body, into her stomach, thighs, ass. Can no longer control her hips, presses, up, up, up. _More._ Can no longer kiss Eva back, can just about focus on getting her mouth to function.

Eva buries her face in Noora’s neck, in the sensitive skin above her collar bone. Teeth, tongue, lips – thrills through Noora’s nervous system, and she squeezes her eyes shut, turns her head, buries her face in Eva’s hair. The scent of rain, shampoo. The taste of Eva still on her tongue, the sound of Eva’s breaths. Eva’s body, pressing up against hers. Eva’s _fingers._

She can’t handle more sensations than that right now.

 

Eva’s fingers, finding their way inside her panties.

Eva’s fingers, explorant, along her outer labia, inner.

Eva’s fingers, wet, in circle after circle after circle – but just off the mark.

 

Crackles. Sparks.

 

Radiates through her body.

 

It’s almost too much, and at the same time, far from enough.

 

Noora simmers.

Noora simmers, on the edge of boiling, of exploding in fireworks but it’s not _enough._ She tries to angle her hips, tries to make Eva’s fingers find the right spot. _Eva._ And Eva lets go of her neck, smirks, kisses her, deep, teeth, tongue, and Noora tries meet her, fingers twisted in her hair, pulls her in.

 

And Eva moves her fingers.

 

Eva moves her fingers, and Noora floods.

 

Eva moves her fingers and increases pressure, pace and Noora, tense, every muscle at the point of bursting, breaking.

Toes curling in her shoes. Prickles, burns along her legs. Thighs shaking so that she’s afraid they’ll fall of the seat. Fireworks behind her eyes.

 

floods floods floods

 

Breathes against Eva’s mouths. Grips Eva’s hair, too tightly, _knows_ it’s too tightly, knows Eva has a sensitive scalp

can’t let go.

 

sizzles.

crackles.

sparks.

floods.

floods.

floods.

 

Erupts.

 

Once it’s petered out she has to hide her face in Eva’s neck for a minute. Catch her breath. Find her bearings. Eva’s hand on her hip now. Eva’s lips against her temple. Noora’s jeans still pulled down. Her hand still in Eva’s hand.

 

It doesn’t feel real.

It doesn’t feel real. It’s the most real thing to ever happen to her.

 

The seat belt buckle in her ribs. The coat lining against her skin.

Eva’s breath, warm on her cheek. Eva’s spine under her fingers, vertebra by vertebra down her back. Needs to feel, know, that she is here.

Eva, who, without moving her lips from Noora’s temple or her hand from her hip shifts her weight next to her on the seat, turns ever so slightly towards her. Angles her hips. Pushes.

Tenses – relaxes.

Her breath quick. Shallow.

Feels her wet her lips against her temple. Bite down.

 

The back seat doesn’t leave much room for maneuvering, but with an arm around Eva’s back Noora manages to push herself back enough that she can turn them around, can pull Eva in underneath her.

Unbutton.

Pull down.

She only has to cup her hand over Eva’s pubic mound to feel her moan into her hair. Feel her lips go soft, wet, against Noora’s temple.

And Eva pushes her hips against Noora’s hand. Dripping, pulsing wet. Her fingers glide between Eva’s labia. Easily.

Eva vibrates. Breath warm, hand on Noora’s hip, thigh against Noora’s thigh. Eva vibrates.

 

It doesn’t feel real.

It doesn’t feel real. It’s the most real thing to ever happen to her.

 

Eva, warm and wet beneath her hand.

Eva, tensing, pressing towards her.

Eva opening beneath her fingers, breath hitching when she almost – and it would be so easy to just –

She has to tilt her head back to make eye contact with Eva.

 

Carefully. Tentatively.

 

_Okay? Okay._

 

Her finger glides in, encompassed by soft and warm and _Eva._

She has to stop and catch her breath.

Eva.

With her face buried in Noora’s hair and a hand on Noora’s hip.

Her finger buried in Eva, her hand on her clit.

Eva’s breath against her cheek.

 

Not real. The most real thing to ever happen to her.

 

Eva pressing against her hand. Heavy breathing against her hair.

Like it’s always been there. Waiting.

And Noora strokes her clit, light pressure. Still. Her finger in Eva, searching. Finds bone under tense muscle. Angles her finger. Pushes. Presses.

Eva tenses.

Vibrates.

Her stomach pulls away from under Noora’s arm. Her breathing quicker, uneven. Her grip on Noora’s hip tighter, nails digging into Noora’s skin.

Her shoulders shake.

And Eva bursts into laughter.

Vibrates against Noora’s cheek, arm, down into her hand inside of Eva. Shakes through her. Every tense muscle in Eva relaxing in bliss.

 

Eva’s laugh sets Noora on fire. Glows in her, in the pit of her stomach, inside her chest.

Embers. Aerated. Ignited.

 

Strokes, presses, until all that is left of Eva’s laughter is catching, gasping breaths. Muscles shaking.

 

heavy.

deep.

gasping.

breaths.

 

And.

 

Eva heavy, boneless against Noora. Face buried in her hair.

The weight of Eva calms her soul. Anchors her body.

 

Outside, the rain has passed on. The pale day has transformed into dark afternoon.

Inside, the smell of dampness and sweat. Sex.

Noora pulls out of Eva, puts her arm around her back again and pulls her in to keep them from falling off. Sooner or later they’re going to have to talk about this. About what it means. But when Eva smiles at her, eyelids heavy, cheeks red – she can’t convince herself to care.

Not with Eva beside her.

When all Noora thinks about is Eva.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a translation of a fic I wrote for a scandi smut challenge, where we all got the same (randomized) prompts - car sex and mutual masturbation - to do whatever we wanted with. And to top it off, it's my first time writing smut! And exactly 6 months since I posted my first SKAM fic! Time flies when you're having fun. 
> 
> If you can, please read the original - and read [the rest of the challenge fics](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Skandismutudfordringen) as well! They are all out of this world. 
> 
> A million thanks to Maugurt and Smutfika for support and beta reading (of the Swedish original, so everything that's weird/wrong about this one is on me), and to the best gc ever for all your patience and support when I was freaking out about this <3 
> 
> Title inspired by the poem Till skuggan av en verklighet by Karin Boye (To the shadow of a reality, translated by David McDuff), which contains the lines: 
> 
> There is solace in the dream's perfume  
> cool, scarcely perceptible.  
> Yet I would give them all away  
> for the earthly real. 
> 
> Come talk to me on [tumblr!](https://champagneleftie.tumblr.com/)


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